His Favorite Mistress (19 page)

O
N A WARM
June night nearly three weeks later, Tony leaned his shoulder against a pillar in the far corner of the Eckfords’ ballroom and watched Gabriella dance. Lilting strains of music floated on the air as couples glided in measured time and step. To his eye, though, none of the other ladies were half so enchanting as Gabriella, her every movement bespeaking refinement and grace—an opinion apparently shared by her current partner, the besotted expression on the fellow’s face speaking volumes. If he wasn’t careful, the young man was in a fair way to making a fool of himself. Although he wouldn’t be the first, now that a new flock of gallants had flown to her side.

Just as Tony had promised, Gabriella had regained her standing in the Ton, the whole matter with her aunt having blown over so that it was now all but forgotten. Not that matters hadn’t required a definite amount of finessing, but with diligent effort, the trick had been successfully achieved. In fact, she seemed more popular than ever, at least judging by the quality of the invitations that arrived daily at the Pendragons’ townhouse.

He should be glad.

He
was
glad.

With any luck, she might still make a good match this Season. He just hoped she would have better taste than to choose one of the assorted young fops who hovered like slavering puppies at her heels, no matter how dashing she might find them and their smiles. Tossing back a swallow of the brandy his host had been good enough to dispense earlier, Tony averted his gaze.

He’d danced with Gabriella already this evening, leading her out for the first waltz before everyone’s interested gaze. Until now, she’d needed his help and he’d been glad to lend it, dancing with her at balls, strolling with her during the interval at the opera and the theater, taking her riding and driving. He’d even introduced her to Lord Elgin, the scholar himself giving them a private tour of the collection of marbles he’d had shipped from the Parthenon in Greece. Tony had enjoyed that outing and many others, never the least bit bored in Gabriella’s vibrant company. But now he supposed it was time their close association ended, time for him to start pulling away.

Speculation was already running wild, the betting books full of wagers predicting whether or not the two of them would wed. He’d even received a visit at Black House from his cousin Reggie, his heir apparent, who was curious to know if he should soon expect to be cut out of the title. Tony had given him a firm reassurance to the contrary, since his intention to remain a bachelor had in no way changed. Gabriella might be full of fun and an enthusiasm for life that made him see each new day in a different light, but that didn’t mean he wanted to marry her. As for
wanting
her…well, that was another matter entirely.

Whenever she was around, desire inevitably rose inside him, a need he ruthlessly strove to suppress. So far he’d managed to restrain his baser urges. But if she’d been anyone other than Rafe’s niece, he very much suspected he wouldn’t have been able to keep from giving her a tumble, virgin or not.

Finished with the dance, she smiled up at her partner. Tony’s fingers tightened on his glass as he watched them walk off the floor. Tipping back his snifter, he downed the rest of his brandy in a quick, burning swallow.

“Careful, Your Grace,” purred a throaty feminine voice. “Or you just might do yourself a harm.”

Turning his head, he encountered a pair of vivid green eyes framed within a lovely heart-shaped face. “Lady Repton. What brings you this way? I thought you were deep into a game of whist.”

A sultry smile curved her lips as she gently fanned her face. “Oh, I find I am often deep into something, but for now, I have grown tired of it being cards. Are you in need of another?” she asked, inclining her head toward his glass as she took a step closer. “Or perhaps you have need of something else entirely.”

He sent her a knowing look. “Ah, so I assume Lord Repton is out of town again.”

“Yes. Off to Brussels over this dismal hullabaloo with Boney. He should be away for a month or more at least.” Closing her fan, she slid the edge against his chest. “You could come keep me company. Remember all the fun we had the last time he was gone?”

“Of course,” he murmured. “How could I forget? Or the time before that as well.”

Lydia Repton laughed, her pretty face lighting with undisguised pleasure. But then that’s the kind of woman she was, always up for a bit of dalliance whether it be with her husband or some other man who’d caught her eye. He and Lydia had been occasional lovers over the years, usually when one of them was bored and between steady partners. Taking her to bed would be wild and passionate, he knew, a quick, meaningless coupling that would slake the pent-up need simmering in his body.

God knows he had a hunger, since inexplicably, he’d been without a woman these past few weeks, practicing a celibacy that was completely foreign to his nature. Usually he availed himself of feminine company several times a week—sometimes every night. Yet he’d made no effort to find a new mistress, and he had no taste for the bawdy houses.

All he need do was accept Lydia’s offer and escort her home. And if he didn’t feel like waiting the hour it would take to get there, he was sure she would be perfectly willing to skip the preliminaries and find a convenient room here in the house so they could enjoy each other immediately.

He told himself to say yes. Why should he not, after all? He had no ties, no commitments to any female.

“Delightful as your invitation sounds,” he heard himself say, “I am afraid I must decline.” The moment the words were out, a ping of surprise resonated inside him.

What is wrong with me?
he wondered.
She is beautiful and eager, a free-spirited bedmate who is more than willing to satisfy my desire. What more do I want?
Yet deep down he knew what he wanted, or rather
who
he wanted, and it wasn’t Lydia Repton.

At his refusal, her lips turned downward into a pout. “Really? But why? From what I hear, you gave Erika Hewitt her congé weeks ago. She was none too pleased about it either, if the stories are to be believed. She claims she was the one to end it with you, but of course, everyone knows the truth. You aren’t the kind of man women leave, not voluntarily anyway. Don’t tell me the two of you are back together again?”

“No, we most definitely are not,” he drawled with complete indifference. Since breaking up with his former paramour, he’d barely given her a passing thought.

“Hmm.” Lydia unfurled her fan again and waved the painted fabric in languid arcs. “Someone new, then?”

He said nothing, deciding he’d be better off letting her interpret his silence as she chose.

A moment later, a fresh round of music filled the room as a new dance began. Without meaning to do so, he glanced over at the couples, his gaze seeking, and finding, Gabriella. Exactly as she had all night, she looked stunning in a gown of pale yellow silk, her luxurious sable hair pinned atop her head, her cheeks flushed with exuberant good health.

“Surely you are not serious about that girl you’ve been squiring around Town?” Lydia remarked, apparently noticing the direction of his gaze. “Despite the rumors, I had assumed it was nothing more than nonsense.”

“It
is
nonsense,” he stated, dragging his eyes away from the dance floor. “She is Rafe Pendragon’s niece, and my recent attentions toward her are nothing more than a favor to a friend.”

“Hmm. Interesting favor.” Turning her head, she looked again in Gabriella’s direction. “She is extremely pretty, I must say, though a bit long and thin for the current fashion. The gentlemen don’t seem to mind, though, do they?”

A muscle tightened in his jaw. “I haven’t noticed.”

She laughed. “Of course you have. You notice everything despite those bored looks you so often enjoy affecting. Certain you are not considering making her an offer?”

“Quite certain,” he said in a clipped tone. “I will never marry.”

But clearly Lady Repton was not about to be put off. “Oh, don’t say never. Invariably such a vow creeps up to bite the promiser in the…well, let us say a very delicate location.”

His lips twisted into a wry grin. “I’m not worried.”

“Not now perhaps, but then again most men don’t think they’ll wed, at least not until they find themselves sliding a ring onto their bride’s finger. I shall be intrigued to see if you escape.”

“I have all these years. The future shall be no different.”

“Of course not, Your Grace.” With a smile, she used her fan to tap him again on the chest. “Let me know if you change your mind about the other matter we have been discussing this eve. You have only to send ’round a note, and I shall see to it the side door to the library remains unlocked.”

Smiling, he took her hand and dusted a kiss over its back before making her a bow. “My thanks, Lady Repton. You are far more generous than I deserve.”

“Very true.” Resignation settled into her green gaze. “But I can see you will not visit me. Adieu then, Tony. I refuse to say good-bye.”

And yet in that moment he realized that is exactly what their parting was—good-bye.

Across the room, Gabriella watched the tableau unfolding between Wyvern and an utterly exquisite blonde woman whose name she did not know. Even as she danced, she’d found a way to keep them in her sight, her heart giving an uncomfortable squeeze at seeing the pair of them laugh and flirt together.

Who is she?
Gabriella wondered, not liking how close together they were standing, nor the playful manner in which the blonde touched Wyvern every now and again, pausing occasionally to stroke him with her fan. Whoever she might be, it was obvious they knew each other well—
how
well was the question?

Surely she isn’t his mistress?
Gabriella thought, although once she considered the idea, she began to strongly suspect that might indeed be the case. Naïve of her, she supposed, to imagine that Wyvern wouldn’t have a lover. A man like the duke undoubtedly had strong needs, and no lack of women willing to satisfy them.

Growing up as she had, she knew far more about such matters than most girls her age, even if she wasn’t familiar with all of the specific details of such arrangements. She realized as well that many married women and widows of the Ton took lovers, most seeing nothing amiss in sharing their sexual favors outside the bonds of matrimony.

So which one was the blonde—widow or wife? And what was she to Wyvern—his current mistress, or only a former one? Neither answer sat well with her, a bitter taste suddenly forming on her tongue.

To her immense relief, the dance soon ended. With a gracious smile, she allowed her partner to escort her from the floor. She was chatting with a group of gentlemen when Lord Carlow arrived.

He made her an impressive bow. “Miss St. George.”

“My lord,” she replied, giving him an easy smile.

“I have been waiting half the evening for our dance, and I believe the time has now arrived. If these other gentlemen will excuse us, shall we depart?”

A small round of good-natured complaints rose into the air as her coterie of admirers tried to dissuade her from accepting. Instead she laughed and showed them her dance card to prove Carlow right. With a trail of disappointed sighs, she took his arm and let him lead her away.

As he did, her gaze fell again on the mysterious blonde, the unpleasant taste returning to her mouth despite the fact that the woman was no longer standing with Wyvern. She scanned the crowd for him, a frown furrowing her brows when her search proved fruitless.

“Is anything wrong?” Carlow inquired. “You look a bit pained.”

“Oh, no no, it’s nothing,” she lied. “Only a faint touch of the headache that comes upon me every now and again. I am sure it will pass directly.”

“Would you be more comfortable if we did not dance? Perhaps a stroll instead?”

Glancing up, she met his open gray eyes. “A stroll would be pleasant, if you are certain you would not mind.”

“Not a bit. Come, let us promenade.”

They were halfway around the room when they came to a set of double doors, open to the night. Before she knew his intention, he drew her over the threshold and out onto the shadow-draped terrace.

“I thought the fresh air might do your headache some good,” he volunteered. “The ballroom has grown rather warm and close, but if you would rather return—”

“No,” she said, relaxing at his explanation. “You are right. A draught of air is most likely just what I need.”

And the night breeze was refreshing, she decided, as they strolled at a leisurely pace away from the noise and light of the ballroom. The air was fragrant with the scents of earth and blossoming flowers rather than hair pomade and perfume. She breathed deeply, closing her eyes for a brief moment to better savor the fragrance. “Oh, just smell the lilacs! Are they not divine?”

“Hmm, they are indeed,” he agreed as he drew to a halt. “But not nearly as divine as you.”

Her eyes popped open an instant later as he shifted to take her in his arms. “My lord! What are you doing?”

“What I have been dying to do for ages.”

She set her hands against his chest, intending to push him away, but then she stopped. Maybe she
should
let him kiss her. Maybe she ought to find out what it was like to know the touch of another man. After all, she had no means of comparison, only her experiences with Wyvern—devastating as those had been. Perhaps Lord Carlow would prove an even more adept lover than the duke, although she had her doubts. With thoughts of Wyvern and the gorgeous blonde still fresh in her mind, she let herself be convinced. With a shiver, she waited for Carlow’s mouth to touch hers.

The moment it did, she knew she had made a mistake, as his lips moved with warmth and urgency against her own. Though his touch was pleasant and his technique quite skilled, no sparks sizzled through her bloodstream, no dizzying surfeit of pleasure rose up to cloud her brain and ease her inhibitions. Disappointment sank within her like a leaden weight. She’d so been hoping she would adore his kiss, but all she could think about was the duke and the fact that Carlow’s touch could not compare.